Jessica’s [POV]
“Here is the confirmation from the art gallery,” my coworker Fiona says, dropping a file on my desk.
“Thanks.”
I am ridiculously pleased that I understand every word she says. Fiona is from Scotland. Glasgow to be precise, and boy did her accent cause me headaches the first few weeks.
“You look distracted today. Are you all right?” Fiona scrutinizes me, the fine lines around her green eyes deepening. I straighten up in my chair.
“Just didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I’ll call the gallery to finalize the details right away.”
“Slow down, Jess. You work very hard. Too hard, I would say. It can take a toll on your sleep. You should take up yoga or something. Make sure you don’t burn out.”
This makes me smile. It’s true I’ve been working hard since I started, on that hot July day two months ago, but that’s not the reason for my poor sleep last night. Parker is the reason I tossed and turned in my bed for hours, waking up aroused. And while it was impossible for me not to think about him last night, the mountain of work I have to do before the day ends is a very good distraction.
“I know I said you work too hard, but do you think you could lend me a hand with some catalogs later?” Fiona asks apologetically, fiddling with the sleeves of her gray, knee-length, cotton dress.
“Sure, just let me finish with the gallery and I’ll come by your office.”
“Great.”
Fiona is technically not my boss, but since my actual boss, Mr. Norton, has been away at our partner museum in Paris since I started working, she’s been taking up his role.
“By the way, Mr. Norton is returning tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Friday. I thought he wasn’t returning until Tuesday.”
She shrugs. “He didn’t offer any explanation.” The implication in her voice is clear. She doesn’t give a damn why he did it. “I hope I didn’t make you nervous by telling you about it. I figured it’d be better than arriving tomorrow and just seeing him here.”
“I’m not nervous,” I assure her. “Thanks for telling me.”
She smiles and leaves my tiny office, her burgundy hair falling in waves down her back. I need a small break, so I grab my cigarettes from my bag and go outside to smoke. I wonder why Fiona thought I would be nervous about Mr. Norton’s return. I guess most people would be. But my boss was the one who hired me, and we clicked unbelievably well during the interview. He was polite and professional throughout it and did his best to put me at ease. Midway through it, I was convinced he wouldn’t give me the job because it was obvious they were looking for someone who had a bit more experience. I very nearly hugged him when he offered me the job and told me he had full confidence that I wouldn’t disappoint him. He even allowed me to use one of the office phones to call my best friend to tell her my good news. Serena was cheering with me on the phone. I don’t know what made me do it, but I called my parents afterward. I remember the shock in their voices. Mom was almost good at hiding it. Dad didn’t even try.
“They offered you a job?” he asked.
“Yes, Dad. A job.”
“As what?”
“Assistant for museum operations. You know, that is what I studied.”
He grunted. For him, history and art were nothing more than poor excuses to call myself a student.
“How much are they paying you?” he barked. “That’s nothing,” he protested after I told him.
“No,” I said with a trembling voice, “that is a starting salary.”
“Well, it would’ve been much higher if you had studied economics like Serena, wouldn’t it? She works in investment banking. How much is her starting salary?”
I hung up.
There’s not much I can do better than Serena. I never could. She moved in with my parents and me in San Francisco when I started high school. Her sister had died, and her parents decided she needed a change of scenery. I liked her from the beginning and was determined she would be the sister I never had. Which is exactly what she became. I adored everything about her, from her guarded nature to her British accent. I had a fascination with that accent forever. My mom had grown up in England, where she and Serena’s mom had been best friends, then moved overseas after high school. When I was little, I used to ask my mom to explain things in her British accent; other than a few odd phrases, nothing much stuck. I was too old to ask Serena to do the same thing without looking ridiculous, but I was content listening to her. My parents adored her as much as I did, and Dad never missed an opportunity to tell me I should be more like her. She was smarter, more focused, more organized, harder working . . . simply more than me. I was the party girl. The irresponsible one.
I shake my head, trying to focus on my next task: talking to the gallery. There is no point in remembering any of that now; I managed to get a job with no one’s help, and I should be proud of that. Hell, I am proud. No one had to put in a good word for me. It’s not one of the big museums in London; on the contrary, it’s a small museum specializing in art from the nineteenth century. But still . . . I’m so proud every time I read my name on my office door: Jessica Haydn. My mom could not believe it. Not that I blame her-when I was a student the only jobs I seemed to be able to get on my own were the ones where the only thing that mattered were good looks-the occasional promoter or hostess job.
Well, I didn’t get this one because of my looks.
Parker’s [POV]
“The appointment with the ambassador is in one hour, Mr. Blakesley,” my secretary’s voice resounds through the speaker.
“I know, Olive. Have a car prepared for me in fifteen minutes.”
Leaning back in my chair, I glance at the report in front of me for two seconds before closing it. This is useless. Useless. My brother left this company in shambles, and nothing I do will get it out of the deep shit it’s in.
Interim CEO.
What the hell was I thinking, taking this position? I have a million other things I could be doing. I had to find someone to care for and manage my regular business activities since this barely left me any time to do anything else. I loathe this company, and it’s common knowledge that every single person in it loathes me.
No wonder, a voice nags at the back of my mind. Whose fault is it that your brother ruined it?
Mine. Which is how I ended up sitting on this bloody chair in the first place. I rise from it, stretching my legs on the way to the large window overlooking the business district. I fix the loose cufflink on my left sleeve until it looks perfect on my shirt. I’ve been wearing dress shirts for so long that they’re like a second skin now. Something that has everyone convinced I’m the perfect gentleman.
Apart from Jessica.
She saw right through me from the beginning. I don’t know what tipped her off, but she’s more right than she suspects. I’m not a gentleman. I’m just very good at pretending I am. Except when I’m around her. I realized the very first time I saw her that I wouldn’t be able to keep my shit together if I was around her for long. One indicator that self-control around her would be a damn chore was my body’s reaction to hers. Her clothing was hugging her curves in all the right places, highlighting her luscious hips and full breasts. I wanted to rip off every single piece of clothing right then and there, in the middle of the damn club.
But the other indicator was even more worrying. The moment she started talking to me, I was glued to her words, transfixed. I don’t even remember half the things she was saying, just the way she made me feel. Life poured off her, radiating a warmth and energy I had never seen in anyone before. I couldn’t get enough of her-I spent the entire night watching her, while she was dancing with some bloke she’d picked up there. Something about her mystified me, and I was dazed and bothered by it at the same time. That contradictory feeling followed me for a long time-it still does.
I was used to keeping people at arm’s length, especially women. I had learned the hard way that the only way to keep people from hurting, deserting, or betraying me was by not letting them get too close. It was a lesson my mother taught me when she chucked me out of our house.
But by God, just being in the same room with Jessica made me want to get to know her. From the little I learned about her from Serena and James, I knew she and I were opposites. She was impulsive and chaotic. I liked order and control.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to look away from her, so I watched her from a distance for most of the evening. Until that guy put his hands where he wasn’t supposed to and Jessica was desperately trying to get away from him.
“Take your hands off her,” I said once I reached them. When the bloke didn’t budge, I put my hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him away. He looked disoriented, and by the stench coming off him, it was clear he had enough alcohol in his system not to discern between a woman saying yes or no. His eyes narrowed when he met mine, and then widened in recognition, probably remembering that Jessica had talked to me earlier in the night.
“This is none of your business,” he slurred.
“I believe she made it clear she doesn’t want you to touch her.”
“That still doesn’t make it your business.”
“I’m making it my business,” I said, loud enough that not even the deafening music could cover my words. I stepped between them, and Jessica mouthed thank you as I pulled her away from him. I was still looking at her when I felt his fist collide with the left side of my face.
Jessica shrieked, stepping back, and tugging at my sleeve.
“You coward,” I hissed. “You’re lucky you sucker-punched me.”
“You think I can’t take you in a fair fight?”
“I know you can’t.”
And he didn’t. I proved that with less than two strikes. Before long, the whole club was in chaos, and Jessica came out of the whole thing with a broken leg. Jessica was a bundle of chaos. And still, I kept seeking her. I had a good excuse too. What with her accident, she was confined to the hospital and then her apartment for the better part of every day, and incapacitated to do certain things. My excuse for dropping by several times a week was to help her out.
The truth was, I couldn’t get enough of her. We rarely discussed anything very profound, and that was fine by me. I wanted to keep things light. I had a feeling she wanted the same.
I kept hoping my attraction to her would eventually fade if I saw her often enough.
No such luck.
The more I saw her, the harder it became to hide my desire. The sexual tension between us grew stronger and stronger, and I knew I should pull away and get out before it was too late, but I didn’t. Until one night, when things got heated, and then I left with a sorry excuse. She resented me after that. On the few occasions we did meet, we did nothing more than snap at each other.
Last night, things between us shifted. And even though I know Jess and I are as different as fire and ice, her inner warmth makes me feel warm. I can’t wait to see her again, which is why I pull the phone from my pocket and plot with Dani.